c questions, and is rather inaccessible to all ordinary
emotions. But he was always kind to the boy in his own way."

"But the sympathies of the latter were with the mother?"

"Yes."

"Did he say so?"

"No."

"The Duke, then?"

"Good heaven, no!"

"Then how could you know?"

"I have had some confidential talks with Mr. James Wilder, his Graces
secretary. It was he who gave me the information about Lord Saltire's
feelings."

"I see. By the way, that last letter of the Dukes--was it found in the
boy's room after he was gone?"

"No, he had taken it with him. I think, Mr. Holmes, it is time that we
were leaving for Euston."

"I will order a four-wheeler. In a quarter of an hour, we shall be at
your service. If you are telegraphing home, Mr. Huxtable, it would
be well to allow the people in your neighbourhood to imagine that
the inquiry is still going on in Liverpool, or wherever else that red
herring led your pack. In the meantime I will do a little quiet work at
your own doors, and perhaps the scent is not so cold but that two old
hounds like Watson and myself may get a sniff of it."

That evening found us in the cold, bracing atmosphere of the Peak
country, in which Dr. Huxtable's famous school is situated. It was
already dark when we reached it. A card was lying on the hall table,
and the butler whispered something to his master, who turned to us with
agitation in every heavy feature.

"The Duke is here," said he. "The Duke and Mr. Wilder are in the study.
Come, gentlemen, and I will introduce you."

I was, of course, familiar with the pictures of the famous statesman,
but the man himself was very different from his representation. He was a
tall and stately person, scrupulously dressed, with a drawn, thin face,
and a nose which was grotesquely curved and long. His complexion was
of a dead pallor, which was more startling by contrast with a long,
dwindling beard of vivid red, which flowed down over his white waistcoat
with his watch-chain gleaming through its fringe. Such was the stately
presence who looked stonily at us from the centre of Dr. Huxtable's
hearthrug. Beside him stood a very young man, whom I understood to
be Wilder, the private secretary. He was small, nervous, alert with
intelligent light-blue eyes and mobile features. It was he who at once,
in an incisive and positive tone, opened the conversation.

"I called this morning, Dr. Huxtable, too late to prevent you from
starting for London